


Escapism

by Medie



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You ingest alcoholic beverages to provide escape?" T'Pring says with obvious consideration. "Interesting."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escapism

**Author's Note:**

> semi-sequel to [riyeht-o'noi](http://medie.livejournal.com/1684802.html). Written as a drabble for [](http://azephirin.livejournal.com/profile)[**azephirin**](http://azephirin.livejournal.com/)'s prompt 'caramel'

She regards the tray with undisguised interest. Len's not sure how to take that. All his Vulcan stereotypes being blown out of the water one by one like she's on some kind of personal interest. Vulcan women aren't supposed to be this _blunt_. They're supposed to be shy, retiring, swathed up in layers of clothing and hidden away behind ivory towers like something out of a fairytale.

They're not supposed to be sitting in his quarters, legs curled up against her side, covered by her long skirt, body swathed in one of his old sweaters, giving a tray of chocolates the eye. A look, by the way, that's enough to make a man very uncomfortable. He squirms.

Damn uncomfortable.

T'Pring picks up one of the chocolates, dark eyes looking it over before fixing on him. Her lips flirt with smiling without ever quite committing, but he still feels like she's laughing. At him, with him, makes never-no-mind to him. He's good with all of the above. "It is a mercy, I believe," she murmurs, "that Vulcan telepathy is so very limited."

"Mercy for you or me?" he asks.

She selects one of the chocolates. "That is for you to decide, Doctor."

"Leonard," he says. He sits across from her, ever the gentleman, watching her watch the chocolate. He's still not quite sure how she arrived at his door, even less sure how they got on the subject of chocolate, but he is sure that if his mother ever found out he was halfway to getting a Vulcan lady drunk, she'd kick his ass to Jupiter and back. "Please."

T'Pring looks at him again. "Leonard," she says, lips forming his name with the utmost care and precision. It's not difficult, but the way she puts her attention into it is oddly endearing. "Do you always spend so much time in contemplation?"

"You mean wool-gathering?" he asks. He reaches for his glass. Might as well match the lady point for point. "Hazard of the job." He gestures with the glass. "Hence the therapy."

"You ingest alcoholic beverages to provide escape?" T'Pring says with obvious consideration. "Interesting."

"That and I like the burn," he says, tipping the glass back.

She nods, accepting it, and pushes the chocolate past her lips. He watches with more than a little consideration of his own as her eyes flutter closed and, lord, he's in a world of trouble right now. So far in over his head he couldn't find daylight if he had every sensor Starfleet could muster scanning for it.

"Yes," she says, quiet and serious, even as her tongue slips out after stray chocolate. "I believe I do as well."

Refilling his glass, Len pushes the tray closer. "Then by all means, my Lady, drink up."


End file.
